Nothing Says I Love You
by Emcee Frodis
Summary: SPOILERS FOR HIS LAST VOW: Now that her engagement is over, Sherlock wishes to indulge in his long-held desire to pursue Molly Hooper. But recent developments- such as his revived drug habit and gunshot wound- makes the process difficult.
1. September

**Title: **Nothing Says I Love You...**  
Rating: **M**  
Pairing: **Sherlock/Molly, John/Mary**  
Warning: **MAJOR SPOILERS FOR HIS LAST VOW. Past drug use and bad language**  
Summary: **Now that her engagement is over, Sherlock wishes to indulge in his long-held desire to pursue Molly Hooper. But recent developments- such as his revived drug habit and gunshot wound- makes the process difficult.**  
Disclaimer: **If I owed it DAT KISS would've been real.  
**Author's Notes:** This story places Sherlock's initial shooting on September 10 and his escape on September 17.

**September 17**

"You're an idiot."

Sherlock groaned as he turned his head to look at the door. The pain lanced through his chest as he jostled himself. "Have you been talking to my brother?"

Molly shook her head slowly. "No. I came to that conclusion all on my own."

Sherlock could see the tears glistening in her eyes. Despite popular opinion, Molly Hooper didn't cry all that much, not honest to goodness _tears_. No matter how many times he wounded her with barbed words, she'd never cried. She'd cried the day they said good-bye. When he disappeared to take down Moriarty's Network, when they didn't know when- _if_- he would return.

"Are the tears because I'm still on drugs?" Sherlock asked. "I assure you, this is entirely for pain management and my levels are..."

"Shut up," Molly whispered, shaking her head. She dashed away her tears and moved across the room. She sat down beside him. "You got yourself shot."

"They do say drugs will lead you to a bad end," Sherlock quipped. He raised his hand, making sure his monitor stayed clipped to his finger. He gestured to his chest. "Unfortunately, this isn't the end of the case. More of an intermezzo. Try not to worry yourself too much. I do not plan for the rest of the case to end in gunfire."

Molly kept her gaze averted. Sherlock knew why she refused to look at him. She couldn't. Looking at him would just remind her of how angry she was.

"I should not have pointed out the end of your engagement like that," Sherlock said, trying to sound stoic. He knew he had failed, sounded emotionless instead. It was hard with Molly, maintaining his cool veneer. He was a wreck of emotions, many which he was only beginning to understand.

"I don't care," Molly hissed softly. She pushed her hands over her cheeks, banishing the new flow of tears. "Haven't seen that for a while from you, but when an addict falls off the wagon they often fall back into other old habits. I'm still angry at you for getting high in the first place."

"It was for a _case_," Sherlock insisted. He gestured to his bullet wound again. "A case where a little dope is the most innocuous thing to enter my body."

"You really are an idiot," Molly snapped. "You wanted an excuse to get high. You're as clever as they come, you could have found another way. No, you wanted to do it. You're stupid and selfish..."

Sherlock set his jaw. He could _feel_ the words caged behind his teeth.

Molly was looking at him now. Her eyes- usually so sweet and filled with kindness were cold with their fury. "You're nothing but a selfish, sociopathic, junkie idiot."

Sherlock met those cold eyes. He couldn't hold in his deduction any longer. "And what makes you angriest is your engagement floundered because you're in love with a selfish, sociopathic, junkie idiot."

"Yes." There was no tremor in her voice. She stood up. "Were you trying to hurt me by saying that?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Merely pointing out I'm not the only idiot in this room. You deserve better."

Molly took a deep breath. Her tears had completely abated. "Then Tom... Or you?"

"Both." Sherlock fumbled to reach the morphine controls. "If Lestrade or John come to see you, tell them where I stayed after the Fall. Before I left the country."

Molly turned to the door. "You're going to get yourself hurt again, aren't you?"

"Not the plan," Sherlock replied. "But you never know."

Molly glanced over her shoulder. "Sorry to hear about _your_ engagement."

Sherlock shrugged. "It was for the case and highly fictionalized."

Molly rolled her eyes. "I'm not _that_ much of an idiot. Getting high you'll do for fun, but getting shagged? Of course that would be about work." She turned away again. "Try not to get yourself hurt again. But if I find out you're getting high again, you'll _wish_ that bullet killed you."

With that, Molly strode out of the room.

Sherlock finally touched his fingers to the controls of his pain medication. He turned it off.

* * *

Molly let out a strangled squeaking noise when she spotted the dirty, strung-out young man poking around the lab.

"What are you doing here?" Molly demanded, grabbing for the phone.

He held up his grubby hands in surrender. "Wait! Don't call no one. It's me, right? Wiggins?"

Molly glared at him, clutching the receiver in her hand. "I know exactly who you are. Why shouldn't I call security?"

"Got a present for you," Wiggins replied. He held up a crumpled paper bag that had been sitting on the counter. "From Mister Holmes."

"You're calling him Mister Holmes now." Molly accepted the bag. "Thought it was _Shezza_."

"Turns out he don't really like that much." Wiggins shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "Well, gotta run. Mister Holmes has another job for me."

Molly opened the bag, glancing in at the contents. Her brow furrowed. "Wiggins?"

"Yeah? What up?"

Molly drew out the sample cup filled with urine, a purple bow on top of the lid. "This is a cup of urine."

"It's a bit more personal than that." Wiggins shrugged. "It's Mister Holmes'."

* * *

**September 26**

"You sent Molly a urine sample." Mary said slowly as she pushed the tray of food towards Sherlock. "Just eat, Sherlock. I know you like looking all mysterious and inhuman, but you're recovering from a gunshot, which you tore open again playing marriage counsellor. You need your strength."

Sherlock picked up his fork and pushed at his food unenthusiastically. "Not _a_ urine sample. Three so far. Every three days. She was angry with me for doing drugs. I wanted to assure I have not done any drugs save for the morphine. Even that I've been weaning myself off."

"Hm." Mary hummed softly, leaning back in her chair.

Sherlock's brow knit. "What's that about?"

Mary shook her head. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes, you did," Sherlock replied. He groaned as he pressed the button to elevate the top of his bed a bit further. "What was that about?"

Mary crinkled her nose, shrugging. "I just don't know if a urine sample is really the kind of gift you want to send the woman you're in love with."

Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

Mary glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you know about me and fibbing, Sherlock?"

Sherlock hummed now, considering the answer for a moment. "...That you're really, really good at it?"

Mary's jaw dropped. "Sherlock!"

"You shot me. I think I've earned the right to tease you a bit." A small smile spread across Sherlock's face.

Mary smiled back at him. "Still. You're full of shit and we both know it."

Sherlock relaxed back against his pillow. "How long have you known?"

"Ummm..." Mary tapped her finger against her lips. "About... Five seconds after I met Molly?"

Sherlock sighed. He dug his fork into the unidentifiable grey mush that was his dinner. "You think you're so clever."

"We both know I am," Mary retorted. She leaned over Sherlock, fluffing his pillow. While she was close, she gave him a smile before pulling back. "Just like I know you've already shagged her."

Sherlock sat up, regretting this action instantly as he groaned. "How do you know that?"

"Don't hurt yourself again," Mary chastised him. "So I'm right. Because John-" She stopped speaking, frowning deeply.

Sherlock reached out, taking a hold of her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "He's still not talking to you?"

"Has he said anything about me?" Mary asked softly.

"No idea." Sherlock shook his head. "Not talking to me either."

Mary sighed, shaking her head. She waved a hand to dismiss the topic. "Down that road lay tears and madness. We're talking about you. Anyway, I told him I thought you two had a thing and he laughed at me. Said she liked you, but you hardly gave her the time of day."

"After I jumped," Sherlock explained. "I stayed with her for a few weeks. Until I was sure the contracts were off. Things... Happened."

Mary frowned deeply. "Then you came back and she was engaged."

"It wasn't anything serious," Sherlock said firmly.

"Sherlock, fibbing."

"We didn't make any promises," Sherlock said firmly. "In fact, we did the opposite. She doesn't know how I..." He scowled. "My perceptions of her have always been inscrutable to her. She had no reason to believe I would ever return and if I did if our encounters would affect our relationship."

"But you love her."

"Molly just ended a year and a half long relationship," Sherlock pointed out. "She's also certain I'm a junkie."

"Still, you love her," Mary prodded.

Sherlock grumbled, lying back on his bed and glaring at Mary. "We all have our types. Mine are doctors who indulge my mad experiments and women who slap me. She's my type two times over."

Mary smiled. "She's more than your type, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "I know."


	2. October

**PART TWO: OCTOBER**

**October 5**

"You're not using your morphine."

Sherlock glanced to the door, seeing Molly standing there. She was dressed in a purple and blue striped cardigan and pink dress. Her hair was down. "How do you know? You haven't tested the urine I sent today. Today's your day off."

Molly's movements into the room were careful, cautious. She closed the door behind her. "You've been aching to deduce someone, haven't you?"

"The nurses are boring and I've read them all." Sherlock gestured a hand towards the empty chair by his bedside. "So how did you know about the morphine?"

"Mary told me," Molly replied. She pulled the chair back, creating more distance between herself and Sherlock.

"You've been talking to Mary?" Sherlock frowned slightly.

"She asked me over for tea. Think she wanted to talk you up." Molly looked down at her hands. "She didn't say it, but I think she just wanted company. What with John and all."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "You know?"

"Wasn't that hard to figure out." Molly shrugged. "She was upset. I could tell. And John's things were gone."

Sherlock smiled softly at her, feeling a swell of emotion rise up deep in his gut. "You're good. Now that you're single, can I entice you to solve crimes with me again?"

"Stop it," Molly whispered.

"I asked you to solve crimes with me."

Molly shook her head. "That's not what you meant."

"No, it wasn't," Sherlock replied. "And that wasn't what I meant when I asked you to do so when I first came back."

"I know." Molly was studying her hands again.

"You did it anyway. Why?"

"You know why." Molly took a breath and raised her head to look at Sherlock. "You've been sending me urine samples every three days for over two and a half weeks. Why?"

"You know why," Sherlock whispered.

Molly shook her head slowly. "No. I want you to say it, Sherlock. You told me I'm an idiot for loving you. That I deserved better than you. That you hoped I was happy with Tom."

"You are an idiot for loving me, Molly Hooper. You do deserve better than me. And I _did_ hope you were happy with Tom. That would've made it easier." He took a deep breath. "I know what I am. And I know what I do to you. You said it yourself... I'm a selfish man. I want what I want." He shook his head. "Right now what I want is your forgiveness. What I want is for you to love me without hating yourself."

Molly reached a hand out. Sherlock hissed in a breath as he felt Molly's fingertips brush against the back of his hand. "You're in hospital right now with a gunshot wound. Not exactly easy to get a fix, is it?"

Sherlock glanced to the morphine drip. "I beg to differ." He sighed. "I don't need to do it anymore. I have it established."

Molly shook her head. "I don't understand."

"It was for a case." Sherlock pulled his hand away from Molly's. "That's all I can tell you."

"That's an excuse to get high," Molly insisted.

"I'm a junkie," Sherlock hissed. "I don't _need_ an excuse."

Molly rose from her seat. "I should go."

"Will you be back?" Sherlock asked.

Molly hesitated for a moment. She then gave a brief nod. "I'll come by with your results. I'm guessing you're going to send me another sample?"

Sherlock nodded. "I had Billy get me a whole box of purple bows."

Molly frowned slightly. "Why purple?"

Sherlock managed the smallest ghost of a smile. "You're good. Figure it out."

Molly pressed her lips together tightly. She cocked her head. "I don't like that purple shirt as much as you think I do."

"Yes, you do."

Molly walked towards the door. "Yeah, I do."

* * *

**October 11**

Sherlock was asleep when Molly entered his room. She bit her lip and sat down on the edge of his bed, careful not to jostle any of the equipment he was still hooked up to. She looked over him. He'd lost the circles under his eyes and his cheeks no longer looked sunk in. His skin no longer looked waxy.

She brushed her fingers gently over his cheek before moving up to his hair, stroking his curls. She felt the tears welling in her eyes, obscuring her vision.

She had shed so many tears for this man.

She had cried the night he left her home to take down Moriarty's network. He had slowly, methodically kissed every part of her, murmuring his thanks with every caress. She thought that had been good-bye. She didn't know if he would ever return. Someone could get a lucky shot in. He could return and revert to the cold, unfeeling figure with a sharp tongue and harsh words.

She'd cried for him the night she told Tom she loved him. She mourned for the loss of what might have been.

She'd cried the night he returned. She hated herself for every tear, berating herself that she had moved on. She cried for the ache he brought back to her.

She'd cried when he was shot. She hated him for getting hurt when she had been so angry with him.

And now she cried for the swell of mixed emotions churned up inside her. She knew she should hate him. She knew he _wanted_ her to hate him. How much simpler it would be if she could. She knew what he was, but she couldn't stop. She could sooner stop loving him than she could breathing.

Molly leaned in, pressing her face to Sherlock's shoulder, careful not to jostle his wound. The uncomfortable fabric of his hospital gown rasped her face.

She felt a hand touched the back of her head. "There are others far more deserving of your tears, Miss Hooper."

"Still clean," Molly murmured against him. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"Not physically."

Molly brushed a hand over his chest. "You nearly died."

"That was a month ago, Molly." Sherlock continued to stroke the back of Molly's head. "Don't tell me you just came to this realisation now."

"What was it like?" Molly raised her head to look at him.

Sherlock blinked at her. "Being shot? You know the pathology of gunshots, Doctor."

Molly shook her head. "I know the physical. I can't ask my patients what it was like. So... What went through your mind?"

Sherlock's hand slipped down, gripping her shoulder. She saw his Adam's apple bob. "Everything slowed down. I was in my Mind Palace. My mind was telling me how to survive. What my body was going through and how to stop it from killing me."

Molly's mouth twitched with a small smile. "Logical to the near end."

Sherlock shook his head slowly. "It wasn't just logic." His hand gripped her shoulder tightly. "Contrary to popular belief, my mind palace is not just cold facts and trivia. My mind needed me to trust what it was telling me. It showed me who I trust with my life."

Molly met his intense gaze. She felt her heart thud and her breath catch

John had saved his life so many times. Sherlock had said so himself. John was an army doctor. He had treated many bullet wounds.

But it wasn't John.

Sherlock's tongue slipped out to wet his lips. "It showed me a very good reason to stay alive."

Molly jerked away, Sherlock's hand pulled quickly from her shoulder. She turned away from him, her stomach churning with raw emotion. "I should go."

"Please don't."

Molly shook her head. "I have-" She closed her eyes. "I need to go. I'll... I'll see you later."

Molly fled from the room, feeling her tears starting to begin anew.

* * *

**October 17**

"_GET OUT!_" Sherlock bellowed, throwing his pillow in the direction of the retreating nurse.

Sherlock watched in dark satisfaction as the woman disappeared out the door, crying out in distress at her ornery patient.

"Not very nice'a ya, Mister Holmes," Wiggins commented, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I would be loathed to give anyone the impression I _was_," Sherlock grumbled, glowering at the young man.

Wiggins picked up the pillow Sherlock had thrown, holding it out. "Wouldn't get so stroppy 'bout Doctor Hooper not visitin' ya for a few days."

"It hasn't been a _few_ days." Sherlock snatched the pillow back from Wiggins, putting it behind his head. "It's been a week. A week is _not_ a few days."

"Dontcha see what's goin' on, Mister Holmes?" Wiggins asked. He shook his head slowly. "You don't, do ya? You're too close to it."

Sherlock was tempted to throw his pillow at Wiggins. Or perhaps the bowed urine sample sitting at his bedside. "What could I _possibly _not see?"

"Whatcha doing with Doctor Hooper." Wiggins gestured to the urine sample. "It's _workin'_. And that scares her, so she's stayin' 'way."

Sherlock remained quiet, just glaring at the young man. "You've been clean for two weeks now. You're in a halfway house now. Your eyes are clearer, your complexion better and you're bathing regularly."

Wiggins waited while Sherlock slipped the urine sample into the paper bag and thrust it out to him. "Feel better that ya deduced me too, Mister Holmes?"

Sherlock looked away. "You can go now."

"It's not easy, is it?" Wiggins said, taking the bag. "For guys like us. Everyone's just waitin' for us to screw up again." He shrugged. "Hadda girl meself. Never believed I would get clean."

Sherlock frowned. "Until two weeks ago, you weren't clean.

"Yeah... Well..." Wiggins shrugged. "When she left, didn't have much reason not to be, did I?" He sighed, walking to the door. "Wish I'd thought of what you're doing. Nuffin says I love ya like pissin' in a cup."

* * *

**October 21**

Molly stared at the test results, letting out a soft sigh. She could feel her insides squirm.

"Sorry... Is this a bad time?"

Molly turned and smiled softly when she saw John. "Oh, no. It's fine. I'm just..." She gestured to the equipment around her." ...Doing a thing."

"Figured you were working," John replied. His forehead creased. "That's not what you're doing?"

"It's Sherlock," Molly explained. She turned to face John, leaning against the edge of the counter. "He's been sending me his pee."

John froze, staring at Molly for a long time. He then nodded. "Right. Yeah. He would do that." He pointed to the top of the sample cup. "Is that a bow?"

Molly nodded.

"Seems about right." John took a step towards her as she began to pick up after herself. "Guess you slapping him really made an impression."

An image of Sherlock, his face covered in blood as he yanked Molly to him and kissed her hungrily flashed through her mind. She swallowed hard. "Yeah. I made an impression."

"Have you seen him?" Molly asked.

John nodded. "Yeah. A couple of times. Mostly he's complaining about not having anything to do. So..."

Molly dumped the used samples into the biohazard bin. "He's clean. Morphine for a bit. Not surprising with a gunshot wound, but he's stopped that completely already."

John frowned deeply. "You're still angry with him."

Molly nodded silently.

John moved closer. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Molly, can I ask you something?" When Molly nodded again, he continued. "Did you leave Tom because of Sherlock?"

Molly shook her head. "Tom... Tom left me. But yeah, it was because of Sherlock." She sniffled. "I tried. I tried _so hard_. And I know how ridiculous I looked to you all. But even I'm not so thick I didn't see... But it was all on the surface. Yeah, there was a passing resemblance, but... Not what mattered."

John nodded. "Yeah... Meat Dagger."

"One of many such examples." Molly sniffled. "I don't even think I'm angry with Sherlock anymore. I'm angry with myself. Because even after all of this... I want him. I love him."

John nodded slowly. "You chose him."

"The day Sherlock took me out with him he told me that not every man I fall in love with can be a sociopath." She sighed. "He was wrong... Because there's really only ever been one man. I tried to tell myself I was happy with Tom. For a while, I was. But when it comes down to it, it's him. And it's always been him. And it always will be. No matter how angry I am with him... I knew what he was when I fell in love with him, because it's _why_ I did."

Molly frowned when John got a pensive look on his face. "Are you all right?"

John shook it off, looking at Molly. "Yeah... Of course. Just got some things on my mind." He moved back. "I... I have to go Molly. It's been nice talking to you."

Molly sighed as John made a hasty retreat. Maybe eventually someone would fill her in on what was going on.

* * *

**October 27**

"Why didn't things work out between you and Tom?" Sherlock glanced to the woman sitting at his bedside. She'd propped her feet up on an extra chair, stretching her legs out.

"You really want me to say it, don't you?" Molly sighed. She stretched her arms over her head and Sherlock took a moment to appreciate how her small chest thrust out as her back arched. "There was one person too many in our relationship."

"I was doing my best to stay away from you," Sherlock commented. "We did not often see each other. I made sure we were always in the presence of other people and it was almost always in a professional capacity."

"Doesn't matter." Molly relaxed, folding her hands in her lap. "I wasn't fair to him. He deserved someone who loved him and only him. Who would never think about anyone else. I know you thought he was stupid, but he was smart enough to know I wasn't fully in it. The day you came back was the day my engagement ended."

Sherlock held out his hand to Molly. She looked at it warily for a long moment. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just... Give me your hand."

Molly held out her hand to Sherlock. He took it, lacing his fingers with hers. He brought it to his face, rubbing his cheek against the back of her hand before inhaling.

Sherlock had an encyclopaedic knowledge of perfume, but he hated such scents. The cloying, manufactured odour offended him. Molly's eschewed such artificial fragrances. It made her scent all the more fascinating to him. On her skin he picked up a melange of aromas: a light vanilla body wash, lemons for ridding herself of the smell of bodies. Sherlock's keen nose picked up the traces of the morgue she wasn't able to quite get rid of. Underneath it all was pure Molly, sweet and lovely Molly.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked.

"I don't admit to many foolish things," Sherlock murmured. "And despite your wishes, I still do not feel my latest dalliance with narcotics was foolish, but a necessary evil."

Molly started to pull her hand away but Sherlock held tight. He held up his free hand. "We're not fighting right now and I would appreciate if we continue with that."

He turned her hand over, nuzzling against her wrist. He felt her pulse beating strong. "However, there is one foolish act which I feel I must admit to. When I congratulated you on your engagement. I should have told you what I really felt. It would have been for the better of both of us. We wasted so much time not together."

Molly bit her lower lip. "We're still not together."

Sherlock arched a thick brow and glanced up at her. Molly averted her gaze. "We're _not_," she insisted weakly.

"You no longer become angry with me," Sherlock said quietly. "You come and you keep me company. For no reason other than you wish to be with me. You're in love with me, despite your best efforts to the contrary. My feelings for you should have been made perfectly clear by the seventeen urine samples I've sent to you."

Molly finally withdrew her arm. Her pale cheeks had taken on a pinkish hue. "You need to shave."

Sherlock lay back on his pillow and tilted his chin up. "All right."

Molly frowned and turned back to him. "All right what?"

"All right, you can shave me." Sherlock smiled warmly at her.

"I didn't say _I_ was going to shave you," Molly huffed.

Sherlock didn't budge from his spot. "You're complaining about my stubble. And I was shot." He pointed to his chest where the healing wound lay under his gown. "So someone should baby me."

"I think you've been babied too much in your life," Molly muttered under her breath.

Despite her reticence, Sherlock found himself lying flat on his bed a few minutes later, a hot towel pressed to his face. He stared up at Molly. Specifically, he stared at her lips. They were pressed together tightly in concentration, making them appear thinner than they really were.

He had made derogatory comments about her mouth before. But that had been before he'd felt her mouth pressed to his. Before he'd experienced what it could do to his body. He ached for that mouth.

Once Molly pulled back the towel, she began to apply the shaving cream. He brought a hand up, letting it drift over Molly's side. He moulded it to Molly's hip.

"I'm just giving you a shave," Molly murmured.

"I'm just touching your hip," Sherlock murmured back.

Sherlock drew in deep, slow breath as Molly's fingers pulled his skin taut. She carefully, lightly dragged the safety razor over his skin. Normally, he preferred using a straight razor, but hospital regulations wouldn't allow him one.

She was slow and methodical in her movements. Sherlock closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Molly's hands on him.

He'd had many people shave him before. It was a regular indulgence for him. None of those made him react like this. He'd never had one of his shavers lean in close, small breasts brushing against his arm. He'd never had his body respond to such ministrations. As much as he was enjoying it, he was frustrated that Molly's hesitance and his own infirmary would stop it from going any further.

All too soon, he felt a cool towel pressed to his face, wiping away the remnants of shaving cream and closing his pores. He opened his eyes to look up at Molly. Her lower lip was drawn up between her teeth. "How is that?"

"You tell me," Sherlock murmured. He pulled Molly down to him. He thought for a moment about kissing her, but instead he settled for nuzzling her, rubbing his cheek against hers.

"I-I think I did all right for my first time," Molly stammered as she pulled away. He wasn't used to hearing her stammer like that any longer. It was the first time he'd heard it in over three years.

"Indeed," Sherlock purred. He ran a hand over her hip again. "You know, I could use a sponge bath too."

Sherlock sputtered as a wet towel was thrown directly into his face.

* * *

**October 30**

Molly was summoned to Baker Street as soon as Sherlock was out of the hospital.

She stood at the foot of his bed with her arms crossed over her chest. "No."

"Why not?" Sherlock demanded. He didn't look up from his phone. No doubt he was excited to go through his email, having been unable to use it while in the hospital. He looked far more comfortable than he has in a while in his pyjamas bottoms, grubby t-shirt and blue dressing gown.

"Last time I checked, your best friend was a doctor trained in dealing with gunshot wounds, his wife was a nurse and your brother has enough money and influence to get the best private caregiver in the whole United Kingdom." Molly shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know why you'd want to have someone whose specialty is in slicing up cadavers making sure you stay alive."

Sherlock finally glanced up from his phone. "Because it's not about keeping me alive."

Molly nodded slowly. "Oh, I know that."

Sherlock sat up and reached out, taking a hold of Molly's hand. He pulled her towards the bed. "Molly, I've been clean for... Fifty days. You have been single since the day after John's wedding."

Molly shook her head. "I never told you when Tom and I broke up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically. "Because that was entirely necessary for you to do. Honestly, Molly. It was my liver that was damaged, not my reasoning."

Molly shook her head. "This has nothing to do with Tom."

Sherlock sighed. "It has to do with you and your hesitance to get into another relationship and your ability to trust me. And what better way to prove you can trust me than to give you intimate access to my home." He tugged her onto the bed, getting a small groan.

"Don't hurt yourself," Molly murmured as she nestled against him. She had given up fighting him. His bed was comfortable. More than that, he was comfortable. She slotted against him like they were two puzzle pieces that fit together. Sherlock draped an arm around her shoulders, while he scrolled through his phone with the other.

Molly rested her head against his shoulder, sighing deeply.

"Knew you'd come around," Sherlock murmured smugly.

"Didn't say I was staying," Molly retorted. She played with the hem of his t-shirt. "You're still clean."

"Of course I am." Sherlock trailed his hand over Molly's back, gently rubbing. "I'm not about to slip up now."

"I'm going to search the flat," Molly said firmly. She looked up at Sherlock. "What do you think of that?"

"Anderson already searched it," Sherlock pointed out. "But I'll give you a map of all of my hiding places if it makes you feel better."

Molly hummed softly. Something caught her eye and she sat up. "Is that a bra?"

Sherlock halted his languid stroking of her back. "Janine must have left it."

Molly looked away, resting her chin on Sherlock's shoulder. "You haven't explained to me everything that happened there. I just know you did it for a case."

"Nothing happened," Sherlock insisted. "Well... Not much."

"What do you mean 'not much'?" Molly questioned, feeling a surge of jealousy swelling.

"She attempted to touch my penis once in an attempt to coax an erection from me," Sherlock explained. "I rolled over and said I was tired. I also touched her breasts and backside several times."

"Did you now?" Molly couldn't hold in the small noise of discontent.

"Are you upset that I touched another woman?" Sherlock asked.

Molly sat up and looked to Sherlock. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was curved down in a frown. "You think I'm jealous," Molly said flatly. "You think I'm jealous that you got to second base with a woman you were leading on for a case."

Sherlock nodded slowly. "Yes. Which is frankly ludicrous as at the time I believed you were having _quite a lot of sex_ with a man you were planning to marry."

"I'm not jealous!" Molly snapped irritably. "Sherlock, what you did to that poor woman is _exactly_ what Moriarty did to me! You strung her along just for your own selfish purposes!"

"Everyone strings everyone along for their own selfish purposes," Sherlock replied, his voice flat. "I pretended to be in love with her in order to break into her office. How is that more reprehensible than the dullards who have claimed to be in love with you in order to slime their way into your knickers?"

"Lying to anyone you're in a relationship with is horrible," Molly insisted, sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest.

Sherlock smiled tightly at her. "So I'm sure you told Tom you and I spent three weeks shagging each other rotten and that you emotionally checked out of your relationship the moment you saw me in the locker room at Barts."

Molly didn't realize she's swung her hand to slap Sherlock's face until he'd grabbed her wrist, halting her. "Not high this time," Sherlock replied. "Harder to surprise me."

Molly stared at Sherlock. His cool gaze bore into her, penetrating. Molly's tongue slipped out, touching her upper lip. Sherlock still hadn't released her wrist.

She had no idea which one of them moved first. It happened in an instant. Molly's mouth was pressed to Sherlock's. The kiss was hard and hungry, slick mouths desperately melding.

It ended when Sherlock let out a rough cry. Molly jerked back, realizing she'd pressed her hand against his chest, dangerously close to his wound.

Sherlock panted. "Don't worry about it," he waved off Molly's concern before she could even voice it. "I'm fine." He smiled. "Not that I had any complaint with your abilities previously, but you're quite a good kisser when you're angry. I can't wait to find out what intercourse will be like."

"You're not going to find out!" Molly cried, leaping off the bed. "Sherlock, we're not together!"

Sherlock shrugged. "And yet we just kissed and you're going to move in here to take care of me."

"I never said that!" Molly cried. "I said the opposite!"

"You love me," Sherlock insisted.

"I do." Molly nodded. She took a step back. "And I always will. There's just one problem."

Sherlock sat up. "No matter what you think, I do love you, Molly."

Molly shook her head, feeling her stomach drop. "I don't doubt that, Sherlock. I just don't think that matters to you. You're going to break my heart. Maybe it won't be drugs, but it'll be something."

Sherlock's expression changed. The smug satisfaction drained, making him look younger as his eyes widened. "Molly..."

She held up a hand before he could say anything else. "Sherlock, I love you. But I don't know if I'll ever trust you."


	3. November

**PART THREE: NOVEMBER **

**November 2**

"She doesn't know if she can ever trust me!" Sherlock raged, waving his hands around. "I've been urinating in cups for almost two months now and she doesn't think she'll ever be able to trust me."

Mary set the tea tray down on the nightstand. She then rubbed her forehead. "I don't know what to say, Sherlock."

"She'll risk her job for me. She'll risk her _freedom_. She'll even risk her life. She helped me fake my bloody death!" Sherlock huffed loudly. "But ask her to be in a relationship with me is somehow out of the realm of possibility!"

Mary pursed her lips. "Well, you did fake your death for two years in order to take on a dangerous network of criminals... You essentially prostituted yourself, got high and got shot all for a case..."

"_You're_ the one that shot me," Sherlock hissed, narrowing his gaze on Mary.

"How many times do I have to apologize for that?" Mary asked. "I bought you a fruit basket."

Sherlock glowered, crossing his arms over his chest. He had been aggravated since Molly had left the day before. "So what are you saying? She's right?"

"You're always going to do it." Mary pushed her short, blonde hair off her face and over her ears. "Put yourself in danger for the thrill. And that terrifies her. She's sure she's going to get a call from Greg that you've gone and gotten yourself killed."

Sherlock went quiet for a long time. He considered Mary's words. It wasn't his fault he got mixed up in such dangerous situations. He just wanted to solve crimes. It just so happened the most interesting crimes tended to be dangerous ones. "Oh, what do you know?" Sherlock snapped.

Mary threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, I'd have absolutely _no_ idea what it's like for the person I'm in love with not to trust me."

"Those two should have gotten married," Sherlock grumbled. "They could've had a perfectly boring life longing for excitement. At least John's moved back in with you."

"Still won't say a word to me." Mary frowned deeply as she shifted to sit on the edge of Sherlock's bed. She let out a small groan and placed a hand on her stomach. She'd gained several pounds since Sherlock had last seen her. "If you don't mind me asking, Sherlock... Why do you want to be with her? I mean, yeah... You say you're in love with her. But John always said you never cared about that. That if you got anywhere near those feelings, you pushed them away."

Sherlock looked away. He didn't want to look at Mary when he spoke. He knew he wouldn't be able to lie. Mary would see through him. "Because I've gone through all of the scenarios. And it's the only one that makes sense. It's the only one I _want_ to make sense. I can compartmentalize almost anything... But I don't want to with her. I like how it feels. I want to make her happy."

Mary was quiet for a long moment. Her expression was pensive. "Sherlock, you have to understand that Molly more than just loves you. And that she needs more than love from you."

Sherlock brow furrowed at her. "What do you mean, more?"

Mary let out a small sigh, seemingly wondering how to continue. "You know, without any doubts in your heart that Molly would do anything for you: she would leave her career, lie to her friends, completely change the course of her life, leave all of it behind for you. All you would ever have to do it ask."

Sherlock nodded. Of course he did. Molly had already offered all of that when he faked his death.

Mary bit her lower lip. "Could she say the same for you?"

Sherlock was quiet for a longer moment than was entirely comfortable. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and low. "Is that more than love?"

Mary nodded slowly. "Yes, Sherlock. It's devotion." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Could you be devoted to her, Sherlock?"

Sherlock considered it. Could he really stop being a Consulting Detective to be with Molly?

Then, he hadn't been one when they had been together. For those three weeks following his faked suicide, he'd been with her. Despite the turmoil he had been going through, he found a sort of peace with her. When he was in her bed, with her in his arms, he'd found the calm he'd searched for, the one neither work nor opiates could provide him.

Of course, he couldn't leave things the way they were. He had to take care of Magnussen. But once that was settled, if Molly asked, he would give up being a detective. Sherlock nodded slowly.

Mary smiled at him. "Well... Look at that. The Grinch's heart just grew three sizes today."

Sherlock frowned, shaking his head. "I don't know what that means."

Mary leaned in, giving Sherlock a kiss on the forehead. "Of course you don't. Molly doesn't know what she's in for... She doesn't stand a chance."

**November 8**

Molly sat cross-legged at the foot of Sherlock's bed. "Dear Mister Holmes, I have not heard from my friend Godfrey in six months..."

"Solve that one already," Sherlock said tersely. "He had quarantined himself and did not know how to break the news to his friend. Is there not anything _interesting_?"

Molly closed up the computer with a loud sigh. "Sherlock, the papers reported on you being shot. Lestrade won't come by with any cases because you already walked out of the hospital with internal bleeding so you could go after Mary. You're not going to have any good cases until you can get up and move around!"

Sherlock sat up quickly. He blinked at Molly. "Mary."

"Uh?" Molly worried her lower lip. "What was that?"

"You said Mary." Sherlock narrowed his gaze on Molly. "_So you could go after Mary_." He tilted his head. "What do you know, Molly?"

Molly averted her gaze, pushing a lock of her loose hair over her ear. "Just forget I said anything..."

"_Molly_," Sherlock said firmly.

"I know Mary is the one who shot you!" Molly replied, turning back to face Sherlock.

"Lestrade thinks you know who shot you," she replied. "When he heard I was looking after you, he asked me to make sure you didn't go out and get yourself hurt again like you did last time. And Lestrade's right. You were facing the person who shot you. Even if they were wearing a mask, you would have something to go on. You didn't have any information for him. So you're protecting them. And with everything that happened with John and Mary..." She shrugged her shoulders. "The fact that John didn't move in here when he moved out of his place says that he was angry at you too. Because you backed her up."

"Why aren't you telling the police?" Sherlock asked.

"I know you have a good reason for not telling them," Molly replied.

Molly's eyes fluttered shut as Sherlock's long fingers carded through her hair. She felt his breath against her ear as he moved in closer to her. "You know, Doctor... I don't think I've ever been so attracted to you as I am right now."

Molly turned her head. Her lips were a breath from Sherlock's. "Because I figured out your best friend's wife shot you?"

"We all have our fetishes," Sherlock purred. "Problem?"

"We've talked about this," Molly said firmly. She placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, gently pushing him away from her.

"We've talked about you not being willing to be in a relationship with me," Sherlock replied. "Does that mean we can't fool around?"

Molly's eyes widened as she pulled back further from Sherlock.

He groaned deeply. "Come on, Molly... That was a _joke_."

"It wasn't a funny one," Molly replied. "I'm your friend. Friends don't fool around with each other."

"That movie you forced me to watch the other day begs to differ," Sherlock commented lightly as he laid back on his pillows.

"I didn't force you to watch anything," Molly replied. "You strode into the sitting room and put your head in my lap while I was watching telly. Also, they got together in the end."

"Well, I would _be_ together with you if you weren't so worried about me." Sherlock sighed dramatically. "And you can't deny you desire the same. Not when you've essentially moved in here to care for me."

"I have not," Molly said weakly. She looked away again, twisting a lock of hair around her finger. She could feel her stomach churning.

"How much of your clothing have you packed from your flat?"

Molly didn't replied. She didn't look back. She couldn't bear to look at him, knowing that none of her clothing was left at her flat.

"You should live here," Sherlock murmured. He reached a hand out to skim over Molly's shoulder. "I could use the company. "

"I'm not going to babysit you," Molly insisted.

"That's not what I want," Sherlock replied. He sat up once again. "Molly Hooper, I want you. I have never wanted anyone the way I want you. Frankly, it..." He trailed off, taking a deep breath. "It perturbs me. How I feel about you."

Molly felt the tears in her eyes. She sniffled. "I hate you."

Sherlock cupped her face. "When you say that, I know you just mean the opposite. You hate that you love me."

"That's not healthy," Molly whispered as Sherlock moved close to her once again. "I shouldn't hate that I'm in love. It should make me happier than anything."

"This isn't a fairy tale. And I am far from a knight in shining armour." Sherlock cupped Molly's cheek, wiping her tears away with his thumb. "But I am trying, Molly. I promise you. Please stay with me. Let me prove I am worthy of you."

Molly gave a brief nod. Sherlock broke into a huge, boyish grin. He leaned in quickly, to crush his lips to hers. Before they connected, Molly pulled back. "What are you doing?"

"Kissing you," Sherlock replied.

"I said I was going to live here officially, not be in a relationship with you," Molly said firmly.

"I know," Sherlock replied. "I'm going to win your heart, Molly Hooper. I'm not going to rest until you trust me. And I want to seal that promise with a kiss."

Molly hesitated for another moment, but then she lifted her head and let Sherlock press his lips to hers.

**November 11**

Sherlock was bored. He had been forced to sleep far too much while he was recovering. He considered getting up and going over cold case files. At least that would keep his mind occupied.

But that would require getting out of bed. As much as he loathed his current inactivity, there were some advantages. One of them being the woman curled up next to him.

Officially, Molly had moved into John's old bedroom. She had not spent a single night up in that bed. Oh, she had her excuses. She was looking after Sherlock and she just happened to drift off.

He didn't push. He knew Molly wasn't ready for anything more yet. Of course, his body wasn't ready for anything more. But even the suggestion he was ready for more intimacy would scare her away.

Sherlock brushed a lock of Molly's hair out of her face. She mumbled something in her sleep and snuggled in closer to him. Even as she slept, she was careful to avoid his wound.

He was reminded of their time together at her flat, before he left the country to take down Moriarty's network. He had claimed he needed to sleep in her bed because he couldn't fit onto the small sofa. Really, he just wanted to be close to her. He wanted to be enveloped in her warmth.

The sentimental dross he felt for Molly should have sickened him. He should have rebelled against it. But he had done that for so long.

He knew he loved her when she figured him out before the Fall. But he was fairly certain he had loved her before that. He had always loved her, he just wouldn't allow himself to realize it.

She had always been there. He tried to ignore her. He tried to pretend she didn't matter. But he knew- deep down- Molly had always mattered. She mattered so much it hurt. It was just easier to pretend those feelings didn't exist.

Sherlock's fingers sifted through Molly's hair absentmindedly. It felt impossibly soft.

Molly let out a tiny moan. "Sherlock..."

Sherlock looked down at her. His fingers stilled as he looked at her. "I want to kiss you, Molly Hooper."

She crinkled her nose and moved close. "Want to kiss you..."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You don't mean that. You're asleep and you don't remember you're angry at me."

Molly pressed in closer still. "Love."

"I know." Sherlock tilted her head up and kissed her on the nose. "That's why you're so angry."

**November 14**

"Hello?" John called out as he opened the door to Sherlock's flat. He hadn't been there since he'd gotten Sherlock settled after coming home from the hospital. Sherlock had been quite insistent on his privacy.

At first, John had worried. Then he found out Sherlock was still sending urine samples to Molly. Mycroft informed him that Sherlock had not been leaving the flat. When John had inquired about Sherlock's wellbeing, with his continued recovery from his gunshot wound, Mycroft had just laughed and told John to check for himself.

He frowned when he didn't see anyone in the flat. He then noticed Sherlock's door was shut. Well, he was supposed to be staying in bed. John walked towards the door, just to check.

Before he reached the door, it opened and Molly slipped out, wearing only one of the t-shirts Sherlock slept in and a pair of pink skull-print knickers. She immediately turned and knocked on the bathroom door, seemingly not noticing John's presence yet. "Are you in the bath, Sherlock?"

"Yes!" Sherlock's voice filtered out through the door.

Molly exhaled loudly. "You're going to make me change your bandage before I go to work, aren't you?"

"Yes! Now come in and join me."

"Not on your life," Molly replied tartly. She turned and her eyes grew wide, tugging the hem of her shirt down. "_John!_"

John continued to stare at the half-dressed pathologist, _déjà vu_ hitting him hard.

Molly gave him a bashful smile. She held up a finger. "Just a minute."

She opened the bathroom door, slipping in.

"About time you came in. Come here." Sherlock's voice was... Playful?

"John's here," Molly did not sound amused. "And my clothes are in here. I need to get dressed."

"Well, I will just enjoy the show then. Lovely knickers, by the way."

John scrubbed his face with his hands. He couldn't believe this was happening again. He sat down in his chair, waiting for the explanation.

After about five minutes, Molly exited the bathroom, now dressed for work and very red in the face. "Sorry about that," Molly apologized. She donned her coat and grabbed her bag.

John shook his head. "I should have knocked. Sometimes I forget that I don't live here any longer." He was starting to understand why Mycroft had laughed. Prick.

Speaking of, Sherlock exited the bathroom, dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown. He carried a urine sample, a purple bow on top of the lid. He held it out to Molly. "This is for you."

Molly accepted the sample. "I'll give you the results when I get home."

"You know what they'll be," Sherlock's voice dropped lower, became a sultry purr. He tugged Molly close. "Come on."

"_Sherlock_," Molly hissed softly. "We've talked about this."

"Yes, we have," Sherlock replied. "I ask, you say no, we do a witty back and forth and you end up pouncing me. But you're running late and John's confused enough as it is. Why don't we just skip it today?"

Molly rolled her eyes and got up on her tiptoes. Sherlock leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers.

John had seen Sherlock kiss before. At least before he'd looked away in utter disbelief at the sight. That had been stilted and awkward. Now, Sherlock was tilting his head slightly, large hands coming up to cup Molly's face, nearly covering her up completely.

Molly pulled back quickly, taking a breath.

"Send me results of any interesting post-mortem results?" Sherlock asked. He let his hand slide down Molly's cheek slowly. "Been getting very bored while you're at work."

"And it's making you an utter pain," Molly sighed. "I'll see you later." She turned to John. "Um. Bye John." She gave him a small wave.

Sherlock closed the door behind Molly and turned back to face John. The smile didn't leave his face as he crossed the room to sit in his chair.

John ran his fingers through his hair. "Sherlock, do not tell me you are pretending to be in a relationship with Molly Hooper! You _know_ that girl is desperately in love with you even without you pretending not to be a complete and utter cock. I don't even know what the _point_ would be! Molly lets you run rough shot over her as it is already!"

"Oh, _relax_ John," Sherlock groaned. "It's not for a case. I'm not working any cases right now, not since your Missus shot me."

"Wonderful." John nodded. "Really need to be reminded of that."

"Well, it's _true_," Sherlock shot back. He pulled his dressing robe closed. "And Molly and I are not in a relationship, fictional or not." He ruffled. "She won't have me."

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Sherlock grumbled. "I've wanted to be in a relationship with Molly for three years, but things keep getting in the way."

"Molly Hooper," John said slowly. "You've wanted to be in a relationship with _Molly Hooper_ for three years."

"Yes! Is that so hard to believe?" Sherlock exclaimed.

"Yeah, it really is." John nodded. "Especially the part where Molly Hooper wouldn't jump at being in a relationship with you."

"Well, I was _dead_, wasn't I?" Sherlock sighed. "Then I came back and she was with what's his name... Meat Dagger..."

"Tom," John supplied.

"What does it matter?" Sherlock asked, scrubbing his face. "I've deleted it. She's not with him any longer. But she's not with me either! Because _apparently_ using heroin while on a case is something of a turn off."

John shrugged. "Yeah, well, I can't say I can blame her on that. I'm still on this you wanting to be in a relationship with Molly Hooper. Seriously... No tricks, no case, no nothing. You have absolutely no reason for wanting to be in a relationship with her?"

"Well, there is the whole love thing." Sherlock waved a hand. "Do I need another reason?"

John's jaw dropped. "You're in love. With Molly Hooper."

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh, "You don't need to keep saying her full name like you don't believe it. Yes, Molly Hooper. I want to be in a relationship with Molly Hooper."

"Do you have any idea what a relationship entails?" John asked. "And I mean a real relationship... Not... Whatever you had with Janine. If you win her over, Molly's going to expect things of you. Physical things. Are you ready for that?"

"Ready?" Sherlock repeated. "I'm actually quite eager to have sex with her again."

"_Again_?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes. Again."

"You've had sex with Molly Hooper."

Sherlock groaned. "Again, with the full name. We only know _one_ Molly. Yes, she and I have had sex before. She's quite good at it."

"When did this happen?" John demanded. "Where was I? I think I would remember Molly sneaking out of your bedroom!"

"I was dead," Sherlock replied. "I stayed with her before I left the country."

"Oh right." John nodded, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "So while I was sitting around here mourning you, you were off _shagging your pathologist_." He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "Mary. Mary said she thought you two had a thing. I laughed at her."

"I know. She told me." Sherlock sighed. "She's so much cleverer than you, John. You really should get back together with her."

John held up a hand, feeling a wave of anger hit him. "We're not getting into that now."

"Why not?" Sherlock asked, shrugging. "You've been grilling me about my relationship, it's only fair I do the same."

"Because you do it every time we see each other," John grumbled. "And you keep arranging for Mary and me to run into each other."

Sherlock shrugged again. "Well, how else are you going to decide if you want to remain with her if you don't see her?"

"No. We're not doing this." John paused for a moment. "If you and Molly aren't in a relationship, why was she coming out of your bedroom in your shirt and kissing you before she left."

Sherlock shook his head. "Honestly, I've given up trying to understand how women think."

"Bitter about that, aren't you?"

Sherlock scowled. "Shut up." He paused, glancing to John. "You should come over for dinner sometime."

John shook his head. "Not a chance."

"Why not?"

"You'll invite Mary." John replied.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I was the one who was shot. I'm over it. Why can't you get past it?"

John scowled. "If you don't stop it, I'll give Molly reasons to go running for the hills."

Sherlock scoffed. "As if there's anything you could possibly say..." He trailed off, as John glared at him knowingly. John could see Sherlock's Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "Fine."

**November 24**

Martha Hudson had grown used to things being strange at 221 Baker Street. Ever since Sherlock Holmes had moved in, it was just one odd thing after another. That was life with the world's only consulting detective as a tenant.

What was odd at the moment was how things were _not_ odd. Sherlock was not going out on cases while he recuperated from his gunshot. The only cases he'd taken were ones he could solve from his chair. Sometimes he complained bitterly about it- being bored to the point of tears- but he hadn't yet taken his frustrations out on the wall or anything.

Martha chalked his relative good humour up to Molly Hooper. It had been so gradual, Martha hadn't really realized when the awkward young pathologist had moved in with Sherlock.

At first, Martha had believed it to be just to keep Sherlock on the straight and narrow. John's marriage had wreaked even more havoc than Martha had feared. Keeping Sherlock clean was a necessity. Martha wasn't about to allow a heroin user remain her tenant. Herbal remedies were one thing, but heroin... That had been what Frank had dealt in. Martha would have no part of that again, no matter how fond she was of Sherlock.

As the weeks went on, Martha realized Molly was not just playing sober companion for Sherlock. Their relationship went far beyond that.

Martha was carrying a tray of tea up to the flat. It was routine, to bring Sherlock a morning cuppa. She began to open the door when she heard voices in the sitting room. She paused, surprised that Sherlock was already awake.

"I would appreciate if you did not giggle, Molly," Sherlock's voice was low. If Martha didn't know better, she would have described it as 'sultry'.

"It tickles," Molly tittered. "My tummy is ticklish, all right?"

Sherlock let out a very aggravated grunt. "You are a grown woman who works as a specialist registrar. Yet you refer to it as your 'tummy'."

"Oh hush you," Molly replied. "You don't have to kiss my _navel_."

"It looked incredibly tempting," Sherlock had reassumed a low, seductive purr. "Besides, you are the one who started this. You were feeling me up."

"In my sleep!" Molly protested.

Martha nearly dropped her tray. She never thought she'd see the day- or at least hear it. Sherlock Holmes, sleeping in the same bed with someone else! And a woman, to boot!

Yes, she had thought Sherlock and John were romantically involved. Silly in hindsight, really. John had always made it quite clear where his interest lay. But Sherlock had always been a question mark. Poor Molly had pined for him for years. Martha had thought if he were interested he would have shown it long ago.

But here she was, standing outside of the door, hearing wet, smacking kisses. She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to hold in her laughter.

"If you were amenable, I believe my injury has healed enough that we could engage in intercourse without further damage to my person."

Martha was about to leave when she heard shuffling. "Please get off of me." Molly's tone was even, flat.

"What did I say?" Sherlock whined. "It's not like we haven't had sex before."

"I'm not ready," Molly insisted.

"Molly, when are you going to admit that you and I are together?" Sherlock insisted. "We're on my sofa snogging."

"It's a lot, Sherlock!" Molly cried. "It took me ages to get over you after the last time."

"You didn't get over me," Sherlock interrupted. "You fooled yourself into believing you would be happy with Meat Dagger."

"Now we're _definitely_ finished."

"But-"

"Why don't you get friendly with your hand?"

"No please... Don't run away." Sherlock was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, Molly. Please. Just stay with me. I don't care about... Just holding you is enough."

Martha felt guilty for listening to the conversation. It was deeply intimate, especially given how closed off Sherlock could be. But she listened on.

She wanted to make sure Sherlock was all right. She loved the boy like he was her own. It was obvious from his plaintive tone that he cared deeply for Molly Hooper. Martha knew how ardently Molly loved Sherlock in return. Hearing them together, Martha found herself deeply invested in them working out their difficulties.

"It's been over two months," Sherlock spoke softly. "Tell me what I can do to prove to you I'm..." He trailed off.

"You're what?" Molly asked.

"Good enough for you," Sherlock finished. "That's what this is, isn't it? You don't think I'm good enough to be in a relationship with you."

"That's not what it is," Molly sighed. "Sherlock, I know how hard you're working to keep yourself clean. It's just... It's been a lot. Between breaking up with Tom, you falling off the wagon and then getting shot... I just... I need time."

"But you're still fine with fooling around with me on the sofa," Sherlock laughed bitterly.

"I'm hesitant, but I'm also fairly weak to the attentions of a handsome genius."

Sherlock's laughter was now mirthful. "Well. Do you think we could just kiss a bit more?"

Martha shook her head and set down the tray of tea beside the door. It was clear she was not going to be able to deliver it. Perhaps Molly and Sherlock would find it when they were finished.

When she returned three hours later, there was still quiet conversation and giggles coming from the flat and the tea was cold and untouched.

**November 30**

"Would it make a difference if I promised?"

Molly jumped at the voice. She had been alone in the morgue, not expecting someone to start talking to her. It was also a voice she had not heard in the hospital for quite a while.

She whirled around to face Sherlock. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be up!"

Sherlock sighed deeply as he leaned against the wall. "I have been at 221B for exactly one month. If I remained there any longer, I would go quite mad. I won't engage in any high risk activities while I'm out, but I want an answer."

Molly shook her head fractionally. "An answer to what?"

Sherlock took a step towards Molly. "Would it make a difference if I promised?"

Molly averted her gaze. It was difficult looking at Sherlock sometimes. The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming. "I think you need to explain a bit more to me..."

"If I promise not to hurt you, to never let you down... Will you be with me?" Sherlock bridged the gap between them, placing his hands on Molly's hips. "I wish to be with you, Molly Hooper. I've known this for quite a while. I would have given you this speech when I first returned, had I not seen the ring on your finger. I thought about you- how much I desperately I wanted you- for two years." He ran his hands up Molly's body until he was cupping her face. "I'll urinate in a cup every three days for the rest of our lives if you ask me." He took a deep breath, pressing his forehead to Molly's. The closeness allowed him to close his eyes. "I'll give it up. All of it. I'd rather have you than be a detective."

Molly sighed, bringing her hands up to cover Sherlock's. "Being a detective is who you are."

Sherlock took a shaky breath. "But I want to be the man you're willing to be with."

"I'm with you," Molly admitted. "Come on, Sherlock. You can't see we're already there? I know... We're going slow. I've been so afraid of actually saying it out loud, but you know it's the truth. I'm yours. I've always been yours. You saying all this... It means the world to me. But you can't stop being who you are just to prove something to me."

Sherlock pulled back, looking down at Molly in amazement. "You... Don't want me to stop being a detective?"

"That's who I fell in love with," Molly admitted. She took hold of his gloved hands, squeezing them. "That's who I _love_."

Molly was pulled forward quickly, crushed into Sherlock's chest in a tight hug. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. "God, Molly..."

Molly wrapped her arms around him tightly. "Just stay off heroin and try not to get shot again. Those are the only promises you have to make me."

Sherlock pulled away enough that he could tilt Molly's head up and press a kiss to her lips. "I can do that." He nuzzled her nose. "And I promise not to let you down, Molly Hooper."

Molly beamed up at him. "If you'd like."

Sherlock smiled back at her. "I never want to do anything that will make you stop loving me."

"That would have to be quite the extraordinary thing."


End file.
